Deer James
by Doodleflip
Summary: Did this for a Lily/James Valentine's exchange and it ended up a lot longer than I intended! The story of how Lily's patronus ended up as that particular form...


**Part One: September**

Lily loved the rain.

It felt like home, somehow, her own little world. No matter where she was, whether it was Petunia who had upset her, or Severus, or just the ever-increasing stories of war and tragedy and death, the rain could make her feel better.

Tonight was shaping up to be a really good storm, too, although it hadn't been raining at all when she first wandered outside. She'd only felt in need of a bit of space, a walk maybe, after the manic day she'd had. Now she flopped back into the grass as the first drops spattered against her cheeks and admired the way her shiny new badge bounced the moonlight back into the stars.

She was happy though. Today was the first day of term, her first day as Head Girl, and all the world knew that Lily Evans was meant to be Head Girl. Lily herself knew it. Even James Bloody Potter knew it. It just… fitted. And yet even so, even though she had half-expected it, she still couldn't quite supress a shiver of delight whenever she thought about it. It _meant_ something. The badge was more than just piece of metal. More than authority, even, more than just the grudging respect of her fellow students. It was validation. It was the good opinion of Dumbledore, of McGonagall, of Vector and Slughorn and Flitwick, of every teacher she admired. She might not have the looks, or the family name, or any of the other things that opened doors for you in life, but people believed in her. And that meant something.

Even so, it wasn't easy. She hadn't screwed it up, not completely, but she'd forgotten to tell the prefects about the weekly point deduction limit and the password to Dumbledore's office, and those were only the things she _remembered_ that she'd forgotten. Not to mention that when the headmaster introduced them at the feast she stood up far too quickly and her chair had made the most awful screech on the stone floor, all before he'd even finished saying her name. James Potter, damn him, had laughed aloud at that before giving a smirk and a wave that made half the student body swoon in their seats.

Well. That was one popularity contest she had never been likely to win.

She had to admit, she didn't understand why he'd gotten the badge at all. He was talented, of course – one of the best in their year academically and more spectacular still in his, _ahem_, extra-curricular activities. But it seemed a little odd, nonetheless, to choose the school's premier prankster to be one of the school's premier law-enforcers. Dumbledore worked in strange and mysterious ways, to be sure.

And she'd been quite rude to him when she found out, if she was honest. James Potter, that is, not Dumbledore. She'd arrived in the prefect's compartment with less time to spare than the full ten minutes she'd initially planned for, and so more than a little frantic, only to find him leaning casually against the wall and doodling "Prongs was here 1977" in the condensation on the window.

"My lady!" he'd exclaimed when he saw her, pushing off the wall and giving her an elaborate bow. "And may I say you're looking particularly lovely today?"

"I don't have time for this Potter," she muttered, dumping her bag on the desk and beginning a frantic rummage. "The others will be here any minute."

"What others?" he asked, peering interestedly over her shoulder.

"The Head Boy, genius. The prefects. This is the_ prefect's compartment_, after all. Which, incidentally, begs the question of what on earth you're doing here."

He shrugged. "Dunno really. But it's what the letter said."

"It's what the… _what_ letter?" She looked directly at him for the first time since entering the compartment. He grinned, pulling something shiny from his jeans pocket and tossing it casually in the air.

"Ah yes. My apologies. I might have forgotten to mention that."

"You – _you're _Head Boy?"

"Always the tone of surprise," he noted, mock sorrowful.

"But you weren't even a prefect!"

"The Head Boy doesn't have to be a prefect," he pointed out in a reasonable tone of voice. "And what's more, you definitely knew that."

"Well, yes," she amended. "But still. You have to admit it's a bit surprising."

He hopped up onto the desk and began to swing his legs. "Of course it is. I mean, I _am_ brilliant. Clever, well-liked, star Quidditch player and of course astoundingly handsome –"

"Modest too."

"Yes, that too. But I grant you most Head Boys probably didn't have fifty detentions on their record."

"_Fifty?_"

"At a rough guess. It's hard to keep track." He grinned at her again, and she couldn't help but chuckle. "So then. What were you looking for?"

"My notes," she informed him. "Of what to say in the briefing. Which have just become infinitely more important now that I know my partner knows absolutely nothing."

"Hey! I know things!"

"Alright, sorry. _Prefect-related_ things."

"Ah. Got me there."

"Thought so."

As it happened, though, Lily found her notes and the meeting proceeded more or less without incident. James even made himself useful, helpfully supplying the date of the first Hogsmeade weekend when she drew a complete blank.

And, really, it wasn't so bad – just surprising. They were on much friendlier terms now than they had once been. He no longer asked her out every time he saw her, and while they still argued it was more enjoyable banter now than genuine anger. He would be disorganised, of course, and she couldn't begin to imagine him deducting house points from anyone except Slytherin. But he would pick up the basics fairly quickly and, if nothing else, it would be far easier than the uncomfortable working relationship with Severus she'd been both dreading and half-expecting.

The rain began to fall more heavily and she closed her eyes, relishing the drumbeat against her skin. Her uniform was soaked through but she didn't mind. It wasn't the most practical choice for a night-time stroll to begin with, but if she had changed her clothes she would have had to take her badge off too, and she wasn't quite ready to do that yet. She wanted relish its shine for just a little longer.

The wind picked up, making the grass whisper and press against her side. Her chosen spot overlooked the lake, close to the edge of the forest without being overshadowed by trees. If anyone had come out of the castle she would have been clearly visible, but no one did. She was utterly, peacefully, alone.

And then, quite suddenly, she wasn't.

She didn't know what alerted her, exactly. Some sound just under her hearing, maybe, or a feeling of being watched. Some inkling. But she was no longer alone, that much she could be sure of. Slowly and quietly, she levered herself upright.

She looked around, brushing sodden red strands out of her eyes, but she saw nothing unusual at first. The rain beat hard against the ground, drowning out any other sounds, but in truth there was nothing else to hear. She half begun to think she had imagined it when – _there!_ – a slight movement in the undergrowth, just under the eaves of the forest.

A stag stepped out onto the grass.

She caught her breath. It was staring straight at her, but yet it didn't bolt. If anything, it seemed to have come out to get a closer look. And Merlin, but it was a beauty. Tall and proud, in its prime, with antlers as wide across as the span of her arms and dark, intelligent eyes. It regarded her evenly. It was not afraid.

"Oh," she breathed, and regretted it instantly when the creature tensed as if to flee – but no, she had misjudged the movement. Instead it took one, two, three stately paces towards her.

Slowly, so slowly, she extended a hand towards it, palm up. Her arm trembled. It looked at her and cocked its head to one side, a gesture so human she could have laughed. She gave it her most encouraging smile, trying to look non-threatening and feeling stupid all the while, but somehow it seemed to work. The stag took another half step closer, stopping just out of reach. To Lily, on her knees, it seemed impossibly big, blocking out all the sky, but her rational mind guessed that even had she been standing it would still have dwarfed her. This close, she could see that its glossy brown coat was marred on the left haunch by three ridged white lines – old scars, and deep.

"Looks like something nearly got you there, my beauty," she murmured. "I wonder what it was?" A wolf, maybe, but the marks looked too big for that. And of course, in the Forbidden Forest, it could have been anything, really.

Lily looked back at the stag, and the stag looked at Lily, and all the world stood still.

A volley of barks cut through the night, deep and rough. At once the stag turned towards the sound, tossing its magnificent head and plunging back into the forest without a backward look. As quickly as that, it vanished. She heard no sound of its flight. It was almost as if she had dreamed it.

She exhaled, and let her hand drop back to her side. She knew it was no dream. She clambered to her feet, brushing off her robes and cursing Hagrid's dogs for their timing, but without feeling. She didn't feel cheated, not really. How could she? Even Hogwarts, with all its spells and stories, rarely offered moments as magical as that.

She barely registered the walk back to the castle. It well after curfew, of course, but somehow she knew she wouldn't meet anyone. It was almost as if the encounter had protected her; somehow put her beyond reach of the rest of the world.

It was an omen, she decided as she climbed the stairs to her dormitory. Not in the technical sense, of course – sensible witches did not put much faith in divination – but in the way a muggle might use the word. A little piece of good luck. A smile from the universe.

_Yes_, Lily thought, finally unpinning her badge and placing it neatly beside the bed._It was going to be a good year._

**Part 2: Christmas**

Lily was supposed to be studying.

It was three days before the start of the Christmas holidays and, needless to say, every single one of their professors had given them mountains of work to do over the break. Work which she had barely started.

_You should be glad_, Flitwick had told them, _I hear that in Beauxbatons they have Christmas exams, too. _But it was hard to concentrate. The fire was roaring and the younger years had wandered off, and the heavy snow piling up outside the window gave the room that special extra dimension of quietness you sometimes got in the depths of winter. So really it was no surprise when, at quarter past eleven, Sirius returned from some mysterious errand and plonked a full bottle of firewhiskey on top of her Transfiguration primer. She had tried to be stern, for all of five minutes. It hadn't worked. Her heart wasn't in it.

"What's this?" she asked.

"A gift, for my red-haired rose," Sirius called, dropping another bottle down in front of Remus. "Well. Red-haired lily, I suppose."

"And very much appreciated, I'm sure," said Lily, trying not to smile. "But what's the occasion?"

"Does there have to be one?" James pushed the books off his desk with a thump – she winced – and hopped up to sit on it instead. "Let's face it, none of us were getting any work done anyway. Not even you, Lily."

Remus wrestled with the stopper. "He's right. I must've read the same sentence fifty times over. _The efficacy of non-verbal spells is inversely proportionate to the relative stress level of the caster._"

"And there's no one else around," Mary McDonald pointed out. "I think we're overdue a bit of a break, to be honest.

"Exactly!" piped Sirius. "And good old Sirius was there to anticipate your needs!" He paused. "A thank you would be nice, actually. Firewhiskey doesn't come cheap."

Peter snorted and threw a quill at him. "As if you paid for it!"

They settled in around the fire, pulling up cushions and laughing at each other. Lily leant against the legs of a moth-eaten armchair, with Mary curled up and giggling beside her and James to her right, long legs stretched out in front of him. Opposite, Sirius was trying to sit in a beanbag. Unfortunately for both of them, it was already occupied by Remus.

"_Ouch_, Padfoot, get off! I can't breathe!"

"What's that Moony? Can't quite hear you."

"That's because I've got bloody great _lump_ on my lungs and its name is _Sirius Black_!"

"Oh, you should have said! Budge up, there, I'm sure there's room for two."

"There damn well isn't. I claimed this beanbag, fair and square."

"I know you're a square, Moony, but you have to admit you've never been the most _fair_ of blokes. Why only last week you robbed me of a perfectly good box of sugar quills."

"That had started life as _my_ birthday present, yes."

"I fail to see how that is in any way relevant."

Remus, clearly realising that diplomacy doomed to fail, hit Sirius over the head with a cushion. Sirius responded by trying to throw Remus bodily across the room.

"Quite the charming couple, don't you think?" said James over the sounds of their scuffle.

Lily laughed. "I dunno, you might be onto something there." Remus swore violently and shook his hand where Sirius, apparently, had bitten him. "I mean, for as good looking a bloke as Sirius is, he's suspiciously lacking in girlfriends."

He cocked an eyebrow at her. "You think Moony's his type, though?"

"Your jealousy does you no credit, James."

"Shucks," he said, as Remus kicked Sirius in the shin and almost managed to dislodge him. "And there was me thinking we'd hidden our illicit romance so well all these years."

"If you call sharing a bed and calling each other pet names in public 'hiding', then yes." The beanbag rolled dangerously close to the fire.

"Oi! How do you know about the bed?"

"Well, I – oh damn," Lily broke off as Remus' sleeve caught fire. "I think this calls for emergency action."

"I know just the thing." James flicked his wand and the wireless in the corner sputtered into life, blaring out a horribly cheesy disco number that Lily recognised as _You Put the 'Super' in Supernatural _by the Cornish Pixies. Sirius instantly released his opponent (who belatedly noticed that he was on fire) and all but leapt across the room, throwing ridiculous shapes and singing along in an off-key foghorn of a voice.

"Oh sweet Merlin," Lily clapped her hands over her ears. "How did you know that would work?"

"He's been singing it all week," James informed her. "Moony hates it. I think that's why he does it."

And sure enough when she looked over, Remus appeared to have hidden himself under the beanbag in an effort to escape aural torture. Sirius, meanwhile, was doing his best John Travolta impression.

"Oh come on Padfoot," James hollered. "Professor Slughorn could do better than that!"

Sirius stuck out his tongue. "You think you can do better, four-eyes? Come at me!"

Whooping, James jumped to his feet.

"I propose a contest," Remus yelled. "And a _different bloody song_."

"YOU'RE ON!" James bent down and offered her a hand. "My money's on the ginger!" He hauled her to her feet with such force she flew nearly halfway across the room.

"Maybe not, on balance," quipped Peter. "She can barely stand!"

"Can't hold her drink, that one," added Mary, allowing Peter to help her up in a more genteel fashion.

Lily laughed as Sirius grabbed her hands and spun her around the room. "Says the girl who gets the hiccups after one glass of butterbeer!"

It quickly descended into chaos from there, all thought of competition forgotten as the Marauders threw outrageous shapes and twirled the two girls from one hand to the next at ever-increasing speeds.

"I love this song!" Lily crowed half an hour and quite a bit of firewhiskey later, catching James' hands as Remus let her go. "Dance with me, James."

"I'd be honoured," he said, mock serious, before dipping her so far backwards her hair almost brushed the floor. She burst into giggles and he grinned, sweeping her upright again and spinning her like a top. Out of the corner of her eye she saw the others flopping down to the floor, clearly worn out, but she wasn't quite ready to stop. She felt like she was flying and James seemed happy enough to continue on as well. They danced on, hamming it up to make the others laugh until James spun her away from him and back again with such enthusiasm he had to catch her tight against his chest to stop her falling. He pinned her there and she looked up at him, laughing – until the music suddenly changed to a slow set.

"Padfoot you git," he muttered, and she grinned as she understood. "Always ruining my groove."

James cuffed him round the head as they passed and both sat down again, still a little out of breath. Lily wasn't quite sure if she was disappointed or not. She'd been enjoying dancing with James, but they couldn't keep going once Sirius changed the music, not with all their friends watching – and anyway, slow-dancing was something that couples did, and she and James were not a couple. Just good friends.

And even that was strange to think about. They'd grown far closer over the course of the year than Lily had ever expected, but long working hours had a way of making you share things you wouldn't otherwise talk about. Nothing major, just funny stories, or little triumphs and disappointments from your day, but it all added up. She knew his habits now, his petty likes and dislikes, and he knew her nervous ticks and the way she fidgeted when she was really, really happy about something. It was strange now to look back and remember how much she'd hated him, once upon a time.

Not that he had changed, exactly. He was still arrogant and he still had no respect for authority, not even now that he was an authority figure himself. And he still came off as a bit superior sometimes, especially if he didn't really know what he was talking about. But he was a lot less childish than he had been, and a lot more aware of other people's feelings. She'd known some of that at the start of the year, but working with him was a pleasant surprise nonetheless.

He was clever, of course, and a natural leader, but she hadn't anticipated his attention to detail or how easy he was to talk to. He never seemed to be shocked or disapprove of anything. If you told James Potter about your problems he might make a joke or two, but he'd never make you feel bad about it, or about telling him. And he always had something helpful to say, even if it was just a matter of putting it into perspective.

That was his great gift, she mused – or perhaps the firewhiskey was doing her musing for her at this point, it was hard to tell. His perspective. Nothing phased him. He was just rock solid, always calm no matter what the crisis. It wasn't a quality Lily would ever have thought to want in a Head Boy, but now it felt indispensable. As a born worrier, she had no doubt that without James' reassuring influence the combined stress of NEWTS, Head duties and the impending war would have put her in St. Mungo's long ago. He'd forced her to relax a bit, to relinquish some of her worst controlling instincts and trust in her own abilities – to just wing it occasionally. And, surprisingly, nothing had gone horribly wrong when she did.

Not to mention that everything was just more _fun_ when James was around.

She did sometimes wonder why he didn't fancy her anymore, but she tried not to dwell on it. After all, she hadn't even _wanted_ him to fancy her in the first place. Maybe it had just been a phase, or maybe she had done something stupid, or maybe he had just finally realised that there were a million other girls who were smarter and prettier and funnier than she was. Sirius apparently still had his own opinions on the matter, if his musical stunt was anything to go by, but all in all she thought it made everything a lot easier between them. They could be friends now. They could spend time together without it being awkward. And that was good, because she liked spending time with James, more than she had ever expected to.

She smiled at that, and brought her attention back to the present, where her comrades were engaged in the entirely enjoyable pastime of asking questions that are consider too nosy to ask sober. She took a swig of firewhiskey, eyes watering as it blazed down her oesophagus.

"Right," she said, coughing to clear her throat. "Who's got another question?"

"First kiss," Remus supplied.

"Walter Haversmith, Valetine's Day 1970," answered Mary. "He bought me a chocolate bar."

"Mine was the summer after third year," Lily chipped in. "With a childhood friend."

"Anyone we know?" That was James, looking faintly suspicious. And not entirely without cause, Lily thought.

"No, no, I don't think so," she mumbled. "Sirius?"

He made a face. "A second-cousin. I was eight."

They laughed. "I'm not sure that counts, Padfoot. Wormtail?"

"You haven't answered yourself yet Prongs!" That was Peter, sounding slightly panicked.

"First year," James said promptly. "Melinda Spinnet."

"The Ravenclaw?"

"The very same. Behind the Herbology sheds. Cliché, I know."

"Oooh, I've got one," said Mary suddenly. "Patronus forms!"

"Mary, love, we haven't _done_ patronuses yet," Lily pointed out.

"I know that," Mary waved an impatient hand. "But when we were talking about them in class the other day Professor Flitwick said the form represents your true personality! Don't you think that's interesting? And I'm sure some of you brainboxes can do them."

"Well, speaking as Genius-in-Chief," Sirius began, and James threw a cushion at him. "I can confidently say that my true personality appears to be a dog."

"Mine's a rat," said Peter.

"You can do one?" Mary sounded astonished. Peter wasn't exactly known for his academic brilliance. More to save him further embarrassment than anything else, Lily cut across her. "Mine's a doe," she said.

"What?" she added, noticing that Sirius was looking at her funny and Remus had raised his eyebrows in a _that's interesting_ face. She turned to look at James, but his expression was studiously blank.

"It's not that weird," she said defensively. "Deer are lovely creatures."

"I suppose we just didn't have you pegged as a deer person," Remus said thoughtfully. "Shows how much we know, really. Go on Peter, throw us another question."

They're right though," she admitted quietly to James as the game continued. "I wouldn't have thought I was a deer person either."

"How do you think it ended up as your patronus then?" he asked, cocking his head to one side.

"I don't know really, except… well. No. It's stupid."

"Nah, go on," he said, handing her a bottle. "I'm curious. This is a golden opportunity to explore the mysterious mind of Lily Evans."

"Fascinating, I'm sure," she chuckled, "but if you insist. I don't know whether it would have been the same before, because I've never cast a patronus before this year. But on the first day back I was out in the grounds and, well, I think I must have lost track of time. It got late, anyway, and I was the only one out there. And then after a while, I got this feeling, like I was being watched. So I sat up, and there was this stag, just standing there watching me." She sighed. "It was so_beautiful_, James. You can't… You can't begin to imagine. And even when it realised I had seen it, it didn't run away. It actually came closer, so close I could almost touch it. And it just _stood_ there, watching me. And… I know it sounds stupid. But it felt like a good luck charm, almost. Almost like it was watching over me. Like I'd found my kindred spirit, and now it's staying with me as my patronus."

He was staring at her.

"See? I told you it was stupid."

"No," he shook his head, "that's not stupid at all, Lily. That sounds," he exhaled roughly. "That sounds incredible."

He was still staring at her, though, as if he hadn't really recovered. She could see the room reflected in his glasses and it suddenly occurred to her that they were sitting terribly close together. He really was handsome, she thought. She couldn't understand how it had taken her so long to notice it. Maybe it was just because he'd been so annoying before, but now she felt acutely aware of where every part of his body was in relation to her own, not quite touching at any point. Two inches between their wrists, where their arms propped them off the ground. Half an inch between their knees, curled on the rug in front of them. A handspan, no more, between their lips.

"You never said what your patronus was," she whispered, just to have something to say.

That woke a grin from him, the wicked one she knew so well, and she felt her composure shudder. "Funny thing, that," he murmured. "It's a stag."

For a moment, she just stared at him. And then she burst out laughing, and he joined her, even though she wasn't sure why it was so funny. They laughed till their sides hurt, holding onto each other to stay upright, until at last they ran out of air and wiped tears from their eyes, grinning like idiots with their faces alight. And now, somehow, they were even closer than before. And she could feel his bodyheat, and taste the alcohol on his breath, and see that his eyes were bright with some strange fire.

She was so close that she could see the precise moment he thought _fuck it_, and kissed her.

And maybe once she would have stopped him, maybe once she would have pushed him away, but here and now she didn't.

Instead she kissed him back with everything she had, surrendering her weight to him and holding him tight like she was drowning. And it was fierce and bright and frightening, like something from a song, and Lily thought that even if she lived to be ninety she would never forget how it felt to be kissed like that.

**Part Three: An Otherwise Insignificant Day in Early February**

Lily was worried.

She was trying to pretend otherwise, of course. There was no reason for it, after all – no _sensible _reason. Only a hunch, really. Only the slow, creeping realisation that perhaps she had known this all along; perhaps she had expected this. Perhaps she had just been waiting to admit it.

It began, as these things often do, with Quidditch.

The first fights broke out over breakfast, but that was only to be expected. The Great Hall was a sea of red and green, with even apathetic Hufflepuffs and exam-focused Ravenclaws choosing one side or the other. This, after all, was by far the most important match of the year. If Slytherin won, the House Cup was theirs. And if Gryffindor won, there was only a match against Hufflepuff standing between them and the trophy – a match which even the Hufflepuffs themselves admitted had a foregone conclusion. So it wasn't the final, not _technically_, but it might as well have been. Add to that the infamous rivalry between Gryffindor and Slytherin, only heightened by the rumours of war outside the castle bounds, and frankly Lily thought it was a miracle no one had been killed yet.

And needless to say, with all the hype surrounding this match, she hadn't seen much of James Potter since… well. Since their _incident_.

They'd all gone home for Christmas almost immediately afterwards, and since they'd come back James seemed – as best Lily could tell from a distance, at least – to have spent every waking minute either yelling at his team or devising new strategies to yell at them _about_. He'd somehow managed to keep on top of Head duties too, with Lily finding a fresh pile of forms and schedules on her desk every week. Privately, she was very impressed with this unexpected evidence of a work ethic, of all things, but she still couldn't figure out how he was doing it until the day he fell asleep in potions, dark head lolling dangerously close to the cauldron's boiling surface as Sirius arranged lewd cartoons on his face in wood-spider entrails. She made sure to keep his workload down after that, even when her own class-work suffered. It was only fair, after all. He just had more on his plate than she did right now.

And in that context, she told herself, it was no surprise he hadn't talked to her. He hadn't had a _chance _to talk to her. Expecting anything of him right now would be beyond selfish. And yet part of her wanted… something. Some sign, some acknowledgement, just to prove she hadn't imagined the whole thing. The others weren't much use either. Sirius was almost as busy with Quidditch as James was, she was too embarrassed to mention it to Peter or Mary, and Remus just pretended to be reading every time she brought it up. So she threw her energies into tackling her ever-increasing workload instead, and mostly succeeded in convincing herself it didn't matter anyway.

But maybe after the match, she mused, staring critically at her reflection. Like all the other Gryffindors, she was dressed from head to toe in red and gold. Unlike all the other Gryffindors, it did not make her look adorable and patriotic. It just clashed magnificently with her hair and emphasised her tendency to blush when she was stressed. And Lily was frequently stressed, these days. But yes, maybe after the match things would return to a vague semblance of normality and she and James could decide officially that the kiss never happened, rather than just kind of pretending it hadn't in the awkward way they were doing now.

She wasn't even sure what she would say to him, she realised, as she watched him lead his team out onto the pitch and kick up into the air. It was complicated. From this distance it was easy to find him attractive, she could admit that. He was strong and focused and impossibly good at what he was doing – Gryffindor's golden son. But in person it wasn't so simple. Even if she had kissed him. Even if she had enjoyed it. She'd been drinking, after all, as had he. You couldn't expect people to stand over those kind of decisions. It wouldn't be fair. But then maybe she didn't want to be fair. To be honest, she didn't know what she wanted.

It would be a lot easier to make a sensible decision about whether or not she wanted to kiss James Potter, she thought, if she hadn't already done it.

The match that ensurd was both the longest and the most violent she'd ever seen, with a constant soundtrack of yelled abuse from both players and crowd. There were daring dives, complex technical manoeuvres and more than enough goals to keep anyone happy, but Lily's personal highlight came five hours in when Remus dropped his novel in a puddle, gave voice to a string of cursewords so colourful it would have made Sirius blush and promptly lost Gryffindor ten points to a vengeful McGonagall who had been overheard muttering "_strewth!_" quite violently only moments before. Remus retreated to the castle not long after that.

When the match finally ended it was growing dark and the score on both sides was well over six hundred. The teams were sequestered away for Madame Pomfrey's inspection and the bedraggled red and gold supporters made for the warmth of the common room and the promised butterbeers that awaited therein. And the party didn't disappoint, but it was still several hours later when Lily was ensconced in a delightfully pointless discussion with her girlfriends about the merits of Muggle versus magical music before she finally realised why, exactly, her evening seemed more peaceful and relaxing than she might have expected. The Marauders were missing, all four.

Well. No wonder it was quiet.

Not that she minded that, of course, but even Lily had to admit they added a certain something to a celebration. And once she noticed their absence, she couldn't help noticing as well that it was awfully late for Sirius and James to still be in the hospital wing, even if she _had _thought she heard something crack when James got hit by that close-range Bludger. And it wasn't like the Marauders to miss a party, either, let alone one in their own honour. And where was Peter?

Remus was a simpler question to answer. He would be the same place he went every month, wherever that was. Lily had figured that one out quite a while ago. Even if she hadn't met Mrs Lupin herself (a lovely woman, more stressed than sickly if Lily was any judge) the regular pattern of her son's visits was a little suspicious. It was obvious, really, once you thought to look. Lily thought the only reason more people hadn't guessed was because Remus managed to avoid most people's attention most of the time. Except the Marauders, that is, of course and they would know.

She'd never mentioned to Remus that she knew, though. There was no reason to. She didn't want to make him feel he had something to answer for, like he had to justify himself to her. It would be unfair. And it was none of her business anyway – Dumbledore would know, and Dumbledore would have made sure it was all under control. He couldn't afford to risk the students' safety on something like that and heaven knew there were enough hidden rooms and secret basements in Hogwarts to hide almost anything. And so, secure in that conviction, Lily had never seen any reason to meddle.

Until now, at least.

Because the absence of all four Marauders on the full moon – and when there was a party on, no less – had given rise to an unpleasant suspicion that actually, she knew exactly where they all were. And that, really, this should have been obvious from the start.

And _that_ brought her back to the cause of her worry, and the reason she was wrestling with prefect schedules in the Head Office well after midnight instead of drinking in the common room or catching up on her sleep.

She'd migrated to the office when she realised that, despite her best efforts to hide it, she was jumping half out of her seat every time the portrait hole opened. This way, at least, she could pretend she wasn't fretting (and she wasn't, not really). And this way, she wasn't in Gryffindor Tower either and therefore she couldn't know if the Marauders had returned. That meant she could try and persuade herself that they had. They probably, definitely, _absolutely_ had.

But she didn't really believe it.

And if she was doomed to a sleepless and stressful night, then she might as well get some work done. She was quite productive, in fact. She achieved a level of frenetic energy she never quite mustered during daylight and was beginning to think that maybe stress was good for her when the work finally ran out.

And then it was three in the morning and her self-delusion wasn't holding up anymore. Where one Marauder was, there you would find the others. That was the cardinal rule, and the sick feeling in her stomach was proof that it was as true now as ever. It was fear, plain and simple. She was scared for them.

It was ridiculous in one sense – clearly they had survived this long without the benefit of her worrying – but she had still never imagined that they would take such a risk. It was so dangerous, so bloody_ stupid_! Even for them. And it also forced her to admit that, despite all her certainty, Remus' situation obviously wasn't nearly as safe and contained as she had thought. What in Merlin's name was Dumbledore thinking? What in Merlin's name were _they _thinking? She just couldn't imagine how that ever seemed like a good idea, best mates or no. Didn't they realise how much was at stake? They could lose their education, their health, their future, their _lives_…

Her thoughts were still rattling along in much the same vein when the study door crashed open and James Potter himself all but fell into the room.

He took the time to shut the door carefully behind him before collapsing into the nearest chair and burying his head in his hands with a groan. He stayed like that for quite a long time, and he clearly hadn't even realised she was there. And that, from James Potter, was definitely unusual enough to be worrying.

She stared at him. He continued to not move. He was still wearing his Quidditch pants and muddy jersey from the match, but the rest of his kit had vanished somewhere along the line. Lily wondered idly if shin-pads were much use against a werewolf. She doubted it. There was a twig in his hair.

"Um, James?" she ventured.

"What?" he startled upright, looking wildly around the room. "Lily! What, um… What are you doing here?"

"I could ask you the same question," she said, but her tone was tinged with concern rather than irritation. She frowned at him from across the room. "You look _awful_."

"Gee thanks," he muttered, but the sarcasm was half-hearted. "Aren't you going to quiz me for an explanation?"

"No," she said simply, "because as it happens I already know where you've been and what you've been doing. I am, however, curious as to why you ended up_here_ of all places, instead of in Gryffindor Tower. It _is_ four in the morning, you know. And you look like you could do with some sleep."

He shrugged. "Didn't much feel like running into anyone," he said as if that explained it, rubbing his forehead. "But that plan appears to have backfired."

Despite herself, Lily felt a well of sympathy for him. "It's alright. You can pretend I'm not here if you like. You were doing quite a good job of that, actually, before I interrupted."

"Thanks," he yawned, making ready to bury his head in his arms again. "You're an ace. Or, no – hold on." He wrenched himself upright again. "You said you_knew _where I'd been?"

She sighed, feeling guilty for mentioning it. "Yes. But we don't have to do this now, James. You're clearly exhausted."

"No no no, we _are _doing this now." He stared her down. "This is bloody important, Lily. _What do you know?_"

Lily closed her eyes, trying to summon her energy. The nervous tension of the night had fled the moment James arrived – still stupid, but still alive – and now she felt every bit as tired and empty as he looked. She moved to lean against the edge of his desk.

"I've known Remus was a werewolf for a long time, James," she said, keeping her voice quiet and as even as she could. "I've never told anyone. It doesn't matter to me. Even Remus doesn't know that I know."

He studied her carefully, as though searching for something in her face or her expression that would tell him what he needed to know. Whether he could believe her. Whether he could trust her. "How did you find out?" he said at last, and to her relief the anger was mostly gone from his voice.

"I guessed," she admitted. "I always thought it was odd that Mrs Lupin seemed to be ill so often, but then I met her in fifth year when Remus and I were prefects together and she didn't look sickly at all. And then, well…" she shrugged. "I started looking for other possible explanations."

"But why didn't you tell anyone?" he persisted, "Weren't you worried? That there was a werewolf running free around Hogwarts?"

She looked at him sharply. "Well, I sort assumed that he wasn't _running free_, as you put it. I _assumed_, perhaps naively, that Dumbledore had the whole situation under control."

That made him laugh. "Dumbledore? The same man who made me Head Boy? I didn't realise you put such stock in his judgment, Evans."

She smothered a smile. "Fair. But the point still stands. Until tonight, I hadn't even considered the possibility that there might be a risk involved."

He cocked his head at her, hazel eyes bright. "What was different about tonight? And – " he grinned, " – is this going to explain why you're filing detention slips in the wee hours of the morning?"

She ignored the second half of his comment. "Tonight's different because I realised Remus wasn't doing this alone. _You _lot go with him."

James shrugged, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. "Well, of course. He's our mate."

"But don't you _realise _how – "

James lifted a hand as if to interrupt her, but winced suddenly and dropped it back to his side. "Ah! Well that smarts a bit…"

Lily's eyes widened. "You're injured! Oh Merlin, you _idiot_! What if it's a cursed wound? Why aren't you in the hospital wing?!"

"Calm down, Lily, it's not cursed."

"And you would know that _how_, exactly?"

"Just trust me, alright?" He glared at her, genuinely annoyed, and that more than anything made her stop. "I'm not stupid, I know what I'm dealing with. It's not cursed. I just need to fix myself up a bit, that's all. Which, as it happens, was why I came in here in the first place."

"Fix yourself up? But – "

"_Yes_, fix myself up. Now, if you don't mind… " He didn't bother to finish the sentence, just drew his wand and tugged his jersey over his head in one smooth movement.

Lily dodged as he tossed the garment away from him, then flinched as she caught sight of his chest.

"Apologies for my lack of modesty, Evans, but I don't think this can wait."

It was obvious he was right, although the lack of even one sleazy comment would have been clue enough. If Lily Evans had ever imagined James Potter shirtless, and she would vigorously deny that she had, then this certainly wasn't what she might have imagined.

Because yes, he was every bit as toned as one might expect a trophy-hoarding Quidditch Captain to be. And yes, he did smell pleasingly of broomstick wax and rain and a certain indefinable _maleness_. And yes, there was something undeniably appealing his smooth skin and farmer's tan, especially when compared with her own pasty freckles. But the mottled patches of black and purple, the careful way he was holding himself, the jagged cuts and patches of dried blood – well.

Those she could have done without.

But James barely blinked, matter-of-factly turning his attention to a particularly nasty gash on his right shoulder that was pumping out blood at an alarming rate. He pinched the edges closed with his left hand, then made to lift his wand in his right – only to inhale sharply and turn stark white with pain.

"Here, no – let me do it," said Lily quickly. "You just – you just stay there, just hold it closed."

She retrieved her own wand, racking her brains for a suitable spell. "You're sure it's not cursed?" she asked, then felt guilty when James' only response was a curt, impatient shake of the head, his eyes still closed.

"Right, okay. Sorry." She took a deep breath. Hopefully he was right. "_Barderus_," to slow the bleeding. And "_Texere_," to close it. To her relief, the tendons and skin began to knot back together before her eyes. Not the neatest job – Madam Pomfrey wouldn't have approved it – but it would do.

James breathed out slowly, shoulders slumping. "Thank you."

She did the rest then, all that she could see. He made no move to stop her. She couldn't guess which were from the match and which were remnants of the night's adventures, and James didn't enlighten her, but it was easier not to think about that too much.

Until at last, there were no more wounds to heal and she had to face him again.

She leaned back against the desk and he looked at her. Just looked at her, not saying a word. She shifted, uncomfortable under his scrutiny.

"What are you thinking?" he asked at last.

She shook her head. "I don't even know."

She looked away, trying to clear her mind. He was unsettling her. He looked so_serious_, hardly like James at all, and she wasn't sure she knew how to act around this new James. For one thing, the James she was used to would definitely have made a dirty joke by now. But there were things she should say, even if she didn't know how to say them.

"I just… You must be mad. I mean, I know he's your friend, and certainly it's very brave of you – all of you – but even so, how can you take a risk like that? Werewolf bites are contagious, even fatal sometimes. How can you know that, and still do it?"

"It's not quite as dangerous as you think, Lily. You don't need to worry about us. We take precautions."

She shook her head, not having an answer for that, and James didn't seem to expect one. Without her really willing it, she found her eyes tracing the contours of his chest. It was easier than meeting his eye, at least. And as she did so, she happened to spot an injury she had missed the first time round, on his left side and half hidden under the waistband of his trousers. Not surprising really. She had tried not to focus too much attention in that vicinity.

But this one was old, long healed. A trio of long white ridges, each as wide across as her thumb, shadowing the curve of his hipbone. Werewolf claws, she knew now, but in another context she might have struggled to match cause and effect. And yet somehow they looked oddly familiar, even though she couldn't begin to think when she might have seen a werewolf scratch before tonight. They were awful to look at, even as scars. A wonder he didn't have more of them, really. A wonder he was still alive.

James followed the line of her gaze. "Ah yes," he said, with a wry half-smile. "A reminder not to get too cocky, that one."

"It's awful," she said. "I don't know how you can have survived something like that."

"You do know, actually," he said, and he sounded almost sheepish, of all things. "If you think about it."

Lily frowned, scanning the scars again for some hint, some clue. They _did_ look familiar, strange as that seemed. But it wasn't as if she'd seen James topless before. She was sure she would have remembered. Except…

"I have seen something similar before, actually," she murmured. "You're right. It's a funny thing to remember, I know, but I swear the stag I saw at the start of the year had a scar like that. Maybe Remus got him too, poor thing."

"Maybe he did," James said, and something in his carefully even tone made her look up sharply. There was the germ of something there, something she had missed.

"Precautions," she said slowly. "You said you took precautions, but there's no spell or potion that can guard against werewolf bites. There can't be, it would be famous."

"You're not wrong."

"So what other kind of precaution…"

"Come on, Evans," James quipped, with a flash of his usual mischief. "You're nearly there."

And that, more than anything, was what told her. Her eyebrows shot up. "You_didn't_."

"I didn't what?" He was grinning now, enjoying this.

"Your patronus is a stag."

He inclined his head to her. "Ten points to Gryffindor."

"That stag I saw at the start of the year, the one I told you about… That wasn't really a stag, was it James." It was more accusation than question. Lily folded her arms and James began to look somewhat sheepish again.

"Er… not as such, no."

"You're an animagus."

"Yes."

"You're an _unregistered _animagus."

"Er, yes."

"That's what you meant by precautions," she added. "Werewolf bites are contagious to humans, but no one's ever heard of a were-rabbit or a were-donkey, have they?"

"Not yet at any rate. I must get Remus to conduct some experiments."

She glared at him. "_That's not funny_."

"Right. Um," James shuffled his feet, looking embarrassed. "Sorry."

"But getting back on topic," she continued. "Do you actually _know_ that your animagus form protects you, or is it just a convenient theory? Maybe it only works for true animals. Did you think of that?"

"We-ell, the fact that I'm still fur-free would seem to suggest it works just fine."

"Because you've had enough bites to test the hypothesis. Of course."

"Well… yes. But given that nothing actually went wrong, it seems a tad unnecessary for you to lecture me about it."

She glared at him again and he winced. "That's not even _mentioning_ the fact that you could get expelled or end up in Azkaban for all of this. Being an unregistered animagus is an indictable offence, you know."

"I know that. But I still think you're missing the point."

"And what point would that be, pray?"

"Well…" He stretched, and Lily forced herself to look away from his pectorals. "I dunno. _I_ think it's pretty cool that me and my mates figured out how to turn ourselves into animals at the age of fifteen. That's some solid independent learning, right there. Come on, Lily," - he turned pathetic puppy dog eyes on her - "even you have to admit that's a _little_ bit impressive."

And because it was four in the morning, and because she was more exhausted than she cared to think about, and because his expression was so bloody ridiculous – and because, deep down, she _was_ impressed – Lily couldn't help it. She stared at him for a moment longer, then burst out laughing.

And then James started laughing too, and neither of them could stop.

"I'll have you know," Lily gasped at last, wiping tears from her eyes. "That you have thoroughly ruined what I had thought was a very significant life experience."

"Oh?" James tried to stop laughing and started to cough instead. "How… so…?"

"Because it turns out that stag wasn't some… I don't know, some majestic king of the natural world come to commune with me and bring meaning to my life, but just James…. bloody… Potter!"

"I think I resent that," he wheezed. "I've been reliably informed that I'm a very meaningful person."

She swatted at him, but he grabbed her wrist and tugged her into his chair. "I thought you were a pacifist, Evans?"

Her second attempt at violence resulted in him pinning her arms against her sides.

"I would say I thought you were a gentleman," she retorted, "but I definitely didn't."

Smiling, he released her. "Fine. Just don't hit me please, I'm a delicate soul."

She snorted, but didn't try to hit him again. And now, as the laughter died away, she found herself growing uncomfortably aware that _this was James Potter_ and_he was currently topless_ and _SHE WAS SITTING IN HIS LAP_.

Not to mention that they were still overdue a conversation about a certain drunken kiss that they might or might not be admitting had happened.

_Shit_.

James' thoughts clearly echoed her own, because he was studiously avoiding her gaze and appeared to be trying to decide on the least awkward place to put his hands. On his knees? No. In his pockets? No. Behind his head? Definitely not.

He cleared his throat. "I'm er, sorry I've been avoiding you this last while."

"Ah." Lily managed a half-smile. "So it wasn't my imagination, then. I thought you were just busy with Quidditch."

"Well I was, but… I probably could have managed to run into you over breakfast, or something. I usually do. Turns out my Hogwarts experience is surprisingly different when it doesn't involve stalking you."

"Er… thanks?"

"Don't mention it." He winked at her, then sobered again. Apparently it took some effort for James to maintain this serious demeanour. "Anyway. I just wanted to apologise. It was fairly cowardly of me."

"Apology accepted," she answered. "But, if you don't mind me asking… _Why_were you avoiding me, exactly? I mean, I assume it was something to do with our intoxicated… incident. But you've kissed girls before, and I've never known you to get awkward about it."

"Yeah, but this wasn't just kissing any girl, was it?" He rubbed the back of his neck, still not meeting her eye. "It's _you. _It's _Lily Evans_. The girl I've fancied since we were in first year. Bloody hell, I've asked you out almost every week since then, it's not like you didn't know."

"But you stopped that this year," she pointed out. "I thought maybe…"

"Maybe I didn't fancy you anymore?" He shook his head. "Nope, 'fraid not. I just finally realised I was being a bit of a prat, that's all. Thought maybe I should give you a bit more space. But I screwed that one up pretty royally, didn't I? A drunken kiss wasn't exactly part of the gameplan."

"So then you avoided me because… why? Because you didn't want to admit it had happened?"

"Not exactly." He rubbed his neck again, looking even more uncomfortable than before. "More like… Well. When I kissed you, it felt like… It felt like you _wanted_me to kiss you. Like you were kissing me back. And yeah, it was probably just the drink, or my imagination, but… I felt like if I saw you, or if I talked to you, I'd have to admit it was just wishful thinking on my part. And I, er… I didn't really want to admit that."

There was a long pause, and Lily finally realised she wasn't breathing.

"I think," she said in a small voice, "that I probably did like kissing you."

He looked at her.

"I mean," she continued, gaining confidence as she arrived at more familiar ground, "you're still an idiot. You're still unbelievably stupid, as I think tonight has proven, and you're still an arrogant git and I still don't entirely understand why Dumbledore made you Head Boy, but… none of those things mean I can't enjoy kissing you."

"Er… Don't they?"

"No." And she smiled at him, because in that moment she finally understood the whole of it. "Because you're also brave, and funny, and a brilliant friend, and frankly a bit of a genius. And tonight's proved all of that as well. Not to mention," and she could feel herself flushing, "a very good kisser."

He raised an eyebrow at her. "I'm surprised you were sober enough to remember either way."

She laughed. "I think you're the one missing the point this time. You're half naked and I'm sitting in your lap, Potter. What more do you want?"

He looked faintly shocked at that, but it quickly gave way to a grin. "Excellent observation, Evans. And with that in mind…" he cleared his throat and adopted a mock formal expression. "Do I have your permission to kiss you again?"

And she grinned back at him. "You do."

And this time, when they kissed, it wasn't like a song. It wasn't fast and clumsy and dangerous. It was the kind of kiss that makes you want to take long walks and stare into space, just so you can relive it over and over again. It was the kind of kiss that starts a love story, or ends a fairy tale. It was warm and deep and honest, and his arms were wrapped tight around her and her head was full of the smell and the taste and the feel of him. And when at last they surfaced, laughing and blinking in the light, Lily found that her fingers had come to rest quite naturally on the three white lines that scoured his hipbone.

And she realised that even though so much had changed so quickly, she fully expected her patronus, at least, to stay the same.


End file.
